


Cruento

by Eccentric_Bambi



Series: Gaze-Tober [12]
Category: the GazettE
Genre: Backstory, Blood and Gore, Crossing Timelines, Demonic Possession, Fictober, Murder, Tragedy, Violence, demon rituals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2019-01-19 11:02:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12409098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eccentric_Bambi/pseuds/Eccentric_Bambi
Summary: Akira Suzuki was a normal doctor in normal eighteen nineteen Japan. When a mysterious thing happens in his new hospital the curiosity in him gets the best of him. And it leads to something that would change him forever.(A snippet of a Backstory For St. Lucy. Specifically Reita's character.)FICTOBER





	Cruento

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aoi_Sensei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aoi_Sensei/gifts).



> #12: Dr. Suzuki Akira was very well loved as well as very well known. He is a bright surgeon who had saved hundreds of lives, helped find a cure for cancer, and traveled to poverty-stricken lands to give free life-saving operations to the dying and the elderly. He has gentle hands and gentle eyes. However, the band over his nose hid a secret, a secret of his dark disturbing past, before he changed his name to Suzuki Reita. Who was he and why does he love blood on his hands so much?
> 
> Wow another interesting one here! I had some trouble I will admit, so it's kind of rushed :D (Still gotta finish the others too so bear with me!) 
> 
> This one actually ties into St. Lucy! (I know right?? Rei needs his own backstory!) Basically, it is just a small snippet of how his life was before turning into a demon. ANd I had to change the wording of the prompt a little bit to fit the story!
> 
> (Warnings for blood and character Death, obviously)

****Weird things started happening when he came here. A large institution here in the middle of the Forest with hardly any mail outlets. The year was around eighteen fifteen, a good year after he was promoted to Head Surgeon by his previous hospital. After all of that, he did a number of surgeries in that hospital, on the young and the old, the malignant and benign sicknesses of all kind.

So it was a surprise knowing he would be coming here of all places, a mental hospital. He wasn't trained in mental illnesses, not like plenty of other doctors who could have had that privilege. Akira wasn't even sure how it happened either. One day he was in his office at the main hospital in Tokyo, the next he was packing his bags an being shipped out here. 

A big ancient looking stone structure was what he was met with when he arrived. Intimidating, and incredibly nervewracking. Why was he here again? To take care of people who might hurt themselves? Maybe. These were dangerous people after all. People who were here for a reason. So... Akira was indeed sure he could be nervous for a reason. 

The head nurses did little to make him feel welcome, showing him to a large white house a few yards from the old church in the front yard, and left him alone.

Was this all worth it? Probably not. But the increase in his salary was what lured him here. From five thousand a year to eight thousand a year? Anyone in his position would have come right?

He just hoped it all went well. His status as a well respected doctor was on the line after all.

******************

Three months went by with relatively no issues. His work goes well and nothing goes wrong. 

Then, things got weird around the asylum, almost too much for his comfort. But one day in late October he heard weird noises on the fourth floor. This is where things took a turn for the worst.

Odd wailing noises, soft but alarming, echoed down into the third floor hallway. He was in a surgery and getting it done with when he first heard the noises. The patient was wheeled away to recover, but he stopped in his tracks.

His curiosity prompted him to investigate, but his self-preservation instincts were screaming at him to just turn around and go back.

'What could it be?'

How he wished he had never asked himself that question. 

The moment his feet touched the fourth floor landing everything felt cold, unnatural even. Everything was dark. Even the small flashlight he had with him did little to cut through such a thick blanket. But he didn't even have a few seconds to think before a hand grabbed him by the face, shoving fingers over his eyes before something thick and cloth-like was shoved into his throat. A scream was garbled in his throat and terror gripped his limbs. 

'What's happening?? Let me go!'

No one spoke to him as he was dragged somewhere nearby down a long hallway and down a left turn that seemed to go on forever. As he walked, the person holding him had a vice grip on his arm, keeping him from escaping. 

Then he heard it again. That wailing from before. Female in origin, obviously in pain. The undertones of it sounded almost childlike. Like someone was torturing a young girl.

'Why are you doing this??'

Akira suddenly felt himself being pushed to a cold hard ground, cement from what he could tell. The man holding him down had a grip on his neck, making him flinch from the bruise that was obviously forming there on his nape. All he could muster was whimpers of pain and fear. Was he gonna die? Was that why he was here? 

But then a new tingle started in his neck, and with a growing terror, he realized he was stabbed with a needle. Whatever was in that needle was quickly spreading through his body, making him tingle and burn from the inside. His eyes felt heavy, and his body started to sway uncomfortably.

'Morphine!'

Then voices started talking in hushed tones. Not Japanese, but something foreign... English? Or Latin? 

His brain couldn't differentiate because of the morphine, and his stomach lurched from the Morphine running through him. They gave him too much. It felt like enough to knock out an elephant ten times over. Were they insane?? Or.... Did they intend for this to happen? 

Akira almost retched whatever was in his stomach, which was close to nothing since he hadn't eaten. So when the Morphine finally spread to his limbs he fell over onto his side, hitting his head on the pavement. 

Tinny cries and laughs echo over his writing figure. His brain was shutting down. Then someone shoved their hand up his shirt, ripping and yanking at it. Something cold and sharp suddenly pressed threateningly against his abdomen. A scalpel or knife..? Akira couldn't tell anymore. He was so tired... But he had to... stay awake! This place was dangerous! 

Those voices continued to chuckle and sneer in that same language, and then he heard something deep in his brain as the scalpel was still hovering over his navel. A voice... Deep and demanding, yet comforting. 

**Let me in... I'll help you. Let me help you find peace.**

'Who are you?'

 **These heathens do not know what they are doing, and it will ultimately be their demise.**  

Akira almost cried out in pain as the scalpel finally started to slice open his skin. The terrible searing pain began to seize up his muscles, and his whole body convulsed. A scream barely audible from the Morphine bubbled in his throat. It was somewhat blocked though by the medicine, but he still felt it to a degree.

'Why are they doing this to me?? Make it stop!'

**Let me in. Let me in! I will make them pay!**

Akira whined pathetically as he felt his precious insides exposed to the cold air, the slice going from his navel up to his chest. Everything was exposed, and blood spurts out like a damn broken fountain as those voices continued to chirp and giggle with glee. 

He's dying. Akira was dying. He made a mistake, one that cost him his life. His mind reeled from the pain and he could feel hands stripping away his clothes, letting him bleed out even more. 

'Please! Make it stop!'  

Then something happens that made him almost shoot upright. A powerful aura began to seep into his skin like someone was digging their way into his body forcefully but gently. The warmth from this feeling soothed the pain. He heard the voices become alarmed and even more urgent, but that didn't stop the feeling of weightlessness. 

I will take revenge. For us. Rest. You will soon be free.

That voice sounded victorious, and as he slipped away from his body the hand was moved from his eyes. There he saw the most beautiful sight he has ever seen. An intimidating yet sweetly shining face. Pale, and with black painted lips turned into a smile. A black cloak wrapped his body in feathers and agile fingers held a black scythe. The people that killed him were scattering around, panicking and screaming. 

Was this... An Angel? 

"Rest now, Oh Mortal Dead," the man cooed at him, kneeling down to press a hand to his forehead. "For you have found your reason to rest."

It was warm, and Akira felt himself start to finally slip into the blackness. Then the man put his hand to his stomach, healing the terrible wound. 

"You're going home."

********************

Hours passed. There was nothing there but candles burned to stumps and scattered black feathers. And a body laid there, stripped and desecrated. Eyes once the color of the deepest chocolate, now dulled gray, stared at nothing above himself. The cold grasp of death had long since set in, and the limbs were solid as ice. 

But only seconds after the last candle burned out did the body suddenly animate with a single coughing fit. Air rushed into burning lungs, leaving him gasping for the soothing air. 

"Damn it," he growled and finally managed to suck in air. Violent thoughts of all sorts began to sour his once cheerful mood. "Ugh, did they have to take my clothes too? Fuck this. I'm killing all of them!"

The man stood on shaking and newly animated legs, cringing at the way his body seemed to struggle coming out of new death. But once he got the hang of it he felt as though he could easily find his way through this new existence of his. This body was strong, and the knowledge of many things began to flow into his brain. 

A grin stretched across his face, and he ambled to what he believed was an old bathroom. A tub and a plain wash basin with no water in the pitcher. Oh well, he was okay with that. But there was a mirror there, above the wash basin. He walked up to it, and what he saw only made his grin stretch wider. 

His was still the same, but now his eyes were glowing a deep malicious red. He felt... So different! Like he could do anything! What was this feeling... But no. This face wouldn't do. Not anymore. He walked back to find the scalpel from before and held it to his face. Blood, old and dried, still marred its silvery surface. 

"Akira... No. That's not me anymore. I'm different. I'm not Akira. I'm..." 

He huffed, his brain still hurts. Who... Who was he now? This wasn't him. 

A sudden thought comes to the surface, and he walked back to the bathroom, looking at his beautiful face in distaste. Too pure, too perfect. No. Not who he was now. He growled and had the urge to mar such a deceitful image. With a swift movement, he rose the scalpel to his face and made a thin cut all across his nose and either of his cheekbones. Angry red droplets dripped down his skin, and he felt a ton better. 

"Not Akira. Better. A lot better. I'm... Reita."

The name seemed to come to him naturally. He smiled at himself despite the blood staining his face and rose his fingers to spread it across his cheeks. Nearby was an old ruffled doctor's outfit, no doubt left here by one of the thoughtless assailants. Swallowing hard, he shrugged it on, letting the blood from his fingers stain the once white fabric.

Now there was only one thing left to do. And that was to kill those damn people that did this to him. Anger seeped into his bones, a murderous rage taking over his thoughts. With the scalpel in hand he turned and left, letting his instincts find the people for him. 

And when he did, he did not let up one bit. Blood sprays on his face and screams of agonized pain echo in his ears. Bodies fell to his feet one by one. And all the while, the cut he made on himself seemed to be in tune with his actions. The blood stopped, and in its place a thick blackish material began to spread across the cut, imitating barbed wire. It spread across his nose and all across the cut, marring his once beautiful skin with a wicked tattoo. 

As the last body fell he stood in a pool of blood, caused by him specifically. A thrill rushed through him, and he drops the scalpel, feeling the thick red liquid seeping through his fingers. A thin smile spread on his face, and he felt a shudder of something strange ripple through him. 

_Excitement. Desire. Bloodlust._

This was what he was supposed to do. Now that he had exacted his revenge on those people he no longer had to stay here right? He could go wherever he wanted. 

His name was Reita. And he was a newborn demon. 

A demon with the desire to  _kill._

 

** END **


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